


Danger Down the Line

by ollie_oxen_free



Series: requiem [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Heats, Other, Porn Without Plot, Soul Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:41:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22791934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ollie_oxen_free/pseuds/ollie_oxen_free
Summary: shit changed pretty rapidly when stretch got thrown into another timeline. he's not sure why he's surprised that his luck still hasn't changed.
Relationships: Papyrus/Papyrus (Undertale), Spicyhoney
Series: requiem [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1638562
Comments: 11
Kudos: 33





	Danger Down the Line

**Author's Note:**

> so even though i never finished the actual story i was writing, i really really enjoyed writing it and still go back and read it sometimes. and, instead of bothering to finish writing my original idea for this, i thought of an idea for smut and literally just. wrote it.
> 
> you dont have to read the other if you want to read this, but the gist you need to know is: us papyrus escapes an abusive us sans into underfell where everything proceeds to go awry. this is set probably a few months into his stay, or at the very least long enough for him to become mostly accustomed to the day-to-day gist of Violent Town

Once, when he was younger and was far too concerned about what others thought of him, he’d fallen through the ice. His friends had wanted to go skating, one of the few things to do in the town, but a recent issue with the core had made the entirety of Snowdin warmer, warm enough to melt the ice that covered most ponds and lakes to the point where they were unsafe to walk on. Stretch still didn’t know what drove him to do it, but he remembered bragging about how he wasn’t afraid of falling through the ice as he drifted to the center, where the ice was the most thin. 

Being as lucky as he always was, the ice had let loose a sickening crack, like breaking bones, and fell out from under his feet. 

Skeletons weren’t as sensitive to the cold as other monsters were, and breathing was more of a habit than a necessity, and so even if he wasn’t in extreme danger as he floated under the ice, the others that were still on the shore screamed when he fell. Stretch had just made his way to where it was shallow enough that he could stand and break through the ice, but the entire time he could hear their scared voices, their shouting. Muffled by the ice, the water.

It was the same sound now, the same chill like ice over all of his bones, cold enough that it burned, in a way. He could tell someone was talking to him. Couldn’t hear the words, like he was at the bottom of that lake once more, but he could hear the tone, something rough with a hint of concern under it.

Vaguely familiar. He frowned and spoke, though the words seemed far away. He felt like he was freezing. He felt like he was burning from the inside out. “What?”

Something heavy rested on the back of his neck; a hand, though he couldn’t yet be sure of who it belonged to. Where it touched made the sensation over his body turn from painful to something opposite, something…

He shuddered, reaching up and grabbing the hand on his neck, not wanting it to move away, and the hand gave way to an arm, and a body, and without thinking about it Stretch pressed towards the form, wanting and _needing_ to be touched as much as he could. The body tensed, but that was just outside of his consciousness, focused as he was on the way that the presence brought a peace that was intoxicating, that replaced the burning and the cold with something warm.

They spoke again, the rumble of their voice closer this time. It made him groan, feeling _nice_ , feeling _right_ wherever the body touched him.

His soul formed. Distantly he thought about being terrified of that happening, but the small crack of magic brought a relief from a tension he didn’t know was there. The voice spoke, strained, maybe, words he couldn’t understand. He felt like he should respond, though, nodding his head. If it kept them against him, if it meant he was touched as much as possible, he would do anything. 

Fingers wrapped around his soul. The moment they touched his body tensed, hitting him with all the force of a brick but the liquid sort of warmth of fresh-made tea. Fuck. He was a lot more out of it than he thought, coming up with metaphors like that.

He opened his sockets, not knowing when they’d even closed.

The first thing he saw was black. Not surprising in any way. Everything had been the same shades of black and red the past… He’d lost count, not that he’d ever bothered keeping track of it in the first place. Metal and leather, a familiar sight, though one he’d not seen this close before. This close. 

Edge. 

He was sitting in his goddamned lap.

Something told him to jump back, just like something else told him that he needed to stay, to not move from his place pressed flush against his chest, hips slotted together in a way that seemed goddamned scandalous. The past few minutes surfaced to the front of his mind, through the icy water that seemed to totally surround him, and yeah, pretty fucking scandalous alright.

“Are you awake?”

Stretch glanced over at his soul, spent magic dripping down the curved crests of the bottom and onto the floor. It was thrumming rapidly, faster than was probably normal, held in a cage of the other’s claws, sharp enough they could rend flesh. A thick liquid, pale silver in color, dripped and trailed down the other’s forearm.

“Don’t think I was asleep,” he said, panting. His voice was thick, though, like he’d just woken up. Edge shifted, likely to get more comfortable, but that slight movement drove a ragged whimper from his mouth, magic torn between rushing to his face and pouring down lower where pressure was already building. The other immediately stilled.

Edge seemed to think over his words for a moment. “No. You’re in heat.”

Stretch furrowed his brow, mind trying to catch up. “...What?”

More silence. Stretch’s mind ran rampant, trying to find some information, maybe, hidden in the back of his skull. Before anything came up Edge sighed, head tilting up to the ceiling like he was pleading to the fates. 

“A biological reaction monsters have to low population numbers, or high mortality rates.” Stretch heard the click of magic as he swallowed. “I take it you haven’t had one before.”

He shook his head, though it didn’t seem like a question. “I thought that they'd...”

The queen, taking over after her previous husband's death, had made it glaringly obvious her hatred for the previous... regime. Whether it was actual morals, or just hatred of the ex-king, no one knew, but her words were law either way, and she was quick to remove and change all previous... laws.

Edge seemed to read his mind, though if it was the obviousness of the confusion or the fact that his soul was still dripping spent magic onto the other’s hand, he didn’t know. “They’ve gone down,” he said, “but not enough.”

A timeline where everyone wanted to kill everyone else still had people dying. How surprising.

The magic gathered at his core throbbed, demanding attention. His body shuddered, once, a violent jerk from his place pressed against the other. It made his hips drag against the other’s, slotted as they were, only making things worse. Or better. Being pressed as close as he could was seeming less and less like something worrisome and more like something he desperately needed.

The sound of the name that wasn’t really his being said snapped him out of his thoughts. 

Edge was speaking, voice as still as stagnant water. “This is something you need to take care of,” he said. “The buildup of magic can be dangerous if left to grow. You can-”

The other started to pull away. Panic gripped his form, the kind that he was fairly used to feeling. His hands moved for a better grip, latching behind the other’s breastplate, forcing himself closer. The movement jostled Edge’s grip on his soul, his fingers running against the surface of it once more in a sudden touch that made him keen, face pressed against his sternum.

Edge went deathly still, and Stretch suddenly became aware of just how easily the other could kill him, if he wanted. It did nothing to quell the newfound slickness between his legs, or the ever-quickening thrum of his soul.

“Don’t-” he said, a desperation from the core of his being.

Edge hissed a breath through his teeth. “You aren’t fully yourself right now.”

“I know.” Fear still gripped him. He couldn’t let Edge leave. He couldn’t. “I know.”

The hand that wasn’t cradling his soul rested on the back of his neck. For a moment, he thought Edge was going to pull him away. Instead it worked its way under the strip of leather that circled his neck, thumb rubbing at the cartilage that was between his vertebrae. He swallowed down a whine. He wanted-

“I will stay,” he said, and the words brought a wash of relief over his body, “but you’ll tell me the moment you wish to stop.”

Another not-question. Asking for anything was a weakness, apparently. The fact was unsurprising. He nodded his head once anyways, a need building higher. It only grew when a finger swiped over the broad surface of his soul, wiping away the thick fluid to leave room for more to surface, dripping down and leaving him whimpering.

He panted heavily as his soul seemed to swell, bringing with it a painful arousal that pulsed between his legs, down where the magic had formed and ached with need. Before he could stop himself his hips ground down, two layers of clothes and a pelvis beneath his own feeling better than anything he could remember. The finger swiping over the broad side of his soul stuttered in movement but didn’t stop. 

Encouraged, he pressed down again, and again, rocking against Edge, chasing the spike of pleasure he got whenever something rubbed against him just right. Stretch ground against him like some horny teenager, magic that wasn’t his own sparking up in interest.

His orgasm hit him hard, legs tensing as something in his soul seemed to burst, more magic dripping from it. The faint splat of it hitting the carpet drove through his mind, but just as soon as the pain left it was back, more intense now, joined with the burn of overstimulation. The magic he’d formed clenched around nothing, the need to be touched morphing into a need to be filled, used. Without thinking he reached down, hands fumbling with the buckle on the other’s pants.

Before he could do anything, though, the hand that had been resting on the back of his neck gripped one of his wrists, not tight but firm.

“Don’t.” Came the simple word.

Stretch shuddered, other hand pulling back. “Sorry,” he mumbled, syllables slurred together. “Shit, m’sorry.” 

The grip around his wrist released.

He wasn’t pushed away- though his hands quickly moved to grip at the other’s armor- only shifted, and when that same hand moved to cup against where he was already soaking through the fabric of his pants his apology morphed into a groan. Aside from that it didn’t move, only resting as a firm spot for him to grind against, easily pressing against him where it sent shocks of pleasure up his spine. 

All the while the thumb continued to smooth along his soul.

* * *

He didn’t know how long it was until he actually felt like himself.

Long enough that, when the final drips of his magic had fallen to the puddle on the floor, the faint fuzziness that surrounded the overstimulation had left, leaving only the pain cutting like a knife. It was around then that Edge stopped, pressing his soul back into his body and pulling his limp, sweaty form off himself, putting him back on the mattress and threadbare blankets where he slept. The sudden lack of closeness left a cold numbness in his chest, but he’d grown used to that feeling and was more than able to shove it down.

The door opened and then shut again, and when he managed to peel open his sockets he was alone in the dimly lit room. Stretch pushed himself up onto his elbows, then up to sit, fingers digging into the mattress as he fought the dry queasiness rising up in his throat.

His pants were soaked through and starting to cool, the realization that it had to have made a mark on the other causing humiliation to rise over his discomfort. Then the wave of nausea hit him again, coupling with the stiff pain in his joints, and the thought was gone, leaving him wincing and barely able to sit upright.

The door opened again. Stretch looked up, somewhat surprised to see Edge back, though it looked like the other had changed and washed up. There was a glass of water in his hand, which was more surprising. Stretch took it from him when it was offered, and after the first sip realized how thirsty he was, quickly gulping the rest down. The speed of it made the nausea rise once more, though it was more manageable, this time.

He set the glass to the side, suddenly feeling incredibly awkward. “Thanks,” he said, dumbly, like he hadn’t been desperately grinding into the other’s hand just ten minutes earlier.

Edge either didn’t notice or was merciful enough not to point it out, only nodding in response. “You’ll need to take the rest of the day to recover,” he said. A goddamned miracle in and of itself, being told to essentially sleep for the day and ignoring the few duties he’d been entrusted with.

He brought his hand up, rubbing at his sternum through the thin shirt he’d slept in, remembering the feeling of cool air and a hand directly on his soul. His voice was rough when he spoke. “How often do… _those_ happen?”

“It depends on the individual,” he responded.

Stretch nodded, slowly. Then, because they were scarily similar in some ways, “How often are yours.”

Edge didn’t respond, though the tight set of his jaw was answer enough. Not a question he should have asked. The other grabbed the empty glass and turned to leave. Before he walked out of the room he glanced over his shoulder. 

“Rest,” he said, and then he was gone.

Despite the cooling magic that was sure to grow more uncomfortable than anything in a moment, Stretch couldn’t bring himself to get up, only laying down on top of the sheets like he’d been told. Exhaustion traveled like a wave over his body the moment he was prone.

Before he fell asleep he thought about a strong form pressed up against him, and knew he was in an entirely different kind of danger than he was used to.

**Author's Note:**

> like my writing? want to yell at me or share headcanons? want to just tell me how much i and my sense of humor suck? then check me out on [tumblr](https://ollie-oxen-free.tumblr.com/)!


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